


One... Two...

by thecolorofstars



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecolorofstars/pseuds/thecolorofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She comes with the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One... Two...

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to, but Nile is too good at cosplay. Eli was the beta because Nadiya is sick. 
> 
> Based on this post: http://chocobo-strider.tumblr.com/post/47260751195/tt-oh-shi-ar-initiating-lock-down-hang-on-to

It was all Roxy’s idea. Sure, that idea was fueled by the overly macabre discussion that he’d started, but it was still her idea. “If you’re so sure that we’re going to die,” she’d told him, “then we’ll just make sure that there’s something left behind.” That’s the thing about a Lalonde’s ideas, though. They don’t disappear when the alcohol does. So it really was Roxy’s fault in the end. Dirk swings himself into his chair with a heavy sigh and decides that he doesn’t actually give a damn. It still takes a total of thirty seconds to gain the motivation to hit record.

“Log number, uh,” he mutters, glancing at the last file name. “six-seventy. I poked at some wires today, but all that resulted in was a small fire.”

AR: Small?

“Fine, fine,” he groans. “I set the corner of my bed on fire. For safety reasons, all experimenting will now be done in the kitchen. At least until I decide to fuck that idea.”

These video logs always feel awkward and way too one sided. AR seems to feel the same way, so he pipes up when he feels the need. Dirk is sure that whoever watches this in the future, assuming anyone exists to do so, is probably going to peg him as the token nutjob. Especially after Log #626.

We don’t talk about Log #626.

“There’s not much else to mention,” he continues after a moment. “I went fishing and caught a few. The plan was to try to get a good look at some of the ruins, but things were stirring down there again, so I came up instead. Happened to catch a glance of some storm clouds that are on their way, so it was probably for the better.”

Another pause. Dirk sighs and stretches, popping his shoulders audibly. He’s seen Roxy’s logs. She just babbles on and on until she hits her self-imposed time limit for the day. All of his are filled with choppy segments and strained silences. Sometimes he wonders if he’s really doing what she wanted him to.

“It’ll be a diary!” she had squealed excitedly. “We can document what we think and feel and upload it onto one of those old websites! Someday someone will find them and they’ll know all about us!”

He uploads them of course, but he’s more concerned with keeping the videos in various back up locations. Someone is more likely to find his old disk, flash drive, or external hard drive than to find his videos among millions on YouTube. Still, it is supposed to be a diary.

“Alright, I guess I should say it for posterity,” he mutters. “I’m pretty sure that I’m going to get attacked soon. Sometime this week. Hell, tonight. Things have been too quiet for too long. She won’t let me have peace like this.”

A crash of thunder sounds in the distance, drawing his attention. The sky has darkened already. Lightning flickers in the distance, illuminating the thrashing ocean. For a moment, he finds himself transfixed by the swells. Endless shadows hide themselves in the ocean’s depths, always too far to truly fear, but never far enough to forget. It is only when the waves push roughly against the sturdy stilts of his home that he remembers the true danger that surrounds him.

“Storms are the worst,” he comments quietly. “Roxy understands the struggle to live. We’ve both had blood on our hands. What she doesn’t get is this. The feeling of swaying with the waves. I could die in this storm tonight and I’m the only one alive who knows that feeling.”

Now he’s rambling, talking about storms and the monsters below. Telling them how alone he feels and, if they can read between the lines, how absolutely terrified he is. By the time that he cuts himself off, his heart is racing. Cold shivers run down his neck and a sense of panic fills him, almost irrationally.

Almost.

In the distance, behind the crashes of thunder and the roar of the waves, a new sound is rising.

Laughter.

The message appears on his screen instantly, as if she somehow knew he’d heard.

)(IC: nine

)(IC: ten

)(IC: we comin again

“Oh shi-” he begins, only to be cut off by his damn glasses.

AR: Initiating lock down. Hang on to your plush posterior mounds.

In a blind panic, he pulls the shades off and lets them clatter onto the desk. The electricity is courteous enough to give him a warning flicker before he finds himself plunged into the darkness of the storm. He isn’t naïve enough to believe that the wind knocked the line loose. Damn bitch probably turned the whole generator off. Now he’s alone in every almost every sense.

Again, almost.

Why can’t almost ever be good?

Silently, hoping to buy himself more time, he slides his white shirt off. He’s going to have to move the way that only a tank top will allow. His heart beats out of his chest as he lunges across the room. Even in this darkness, he locates one of his many katanas almost instantly. His next step sends him stumbling over who knows what and it crosses his mind that this is a pointless battle already. Even if it’s just her alone, he can’t fight her in this weather. He is going to, he always does, but this time he’s sure that he can’t. Her voice cuts through the storm once again, sending him shivering and wide eyed to the back wall of his room.

“One, two, Condie’s coming for you,” she croons.

She cackles and his eyes dart to the bedroom door. In his panic, he didn’t even think to push something against it. Should he try to now? Would it even matter?

“Three, four, can’t barracuda the door.”

Sometimes he wonders if she can actually read minds. It isn’t like he can just ask her or anything, but sometimes it seems a lot like it. Just in case, he tries not to think about how he’s going to storm up and take her by surprise. This time, he carefully steps through the room. The fear that fills his head doesn’t dissipate; it masks the plan that he formulates.

“Five, six, gonna krill the prince,” she cackles.

It takes him just seconds to reach the stairs and he only pauses to open the door. Slowly, carefully, he ascends the concrete steps. The storm’s wind batters his bare arms, threatening to whip him off of the roof with its sheer force, but he grits his teeth and narrows his eyes. At least the rain hasn’t reached him yet.

“Seven, eight, it’s too late.”

She chokes on her laughter when the first guard’s head rolls onto her foot. These aren’t drones, but they aren’t like that human that she sent. Perhaps the old legends about her trying to recreate her race are true. Whatever they are, they’re obviously not even close perfected yet. They’re all teeth and claws like they should be, but there’s something that’s just fundamentally wrong at the basis of their existence. The rest of them turn on you, nine more screeching demons to deal with. He throws himself into the battle without hesitation.

Each of the monsters goes down fairly easily. Their claws are sharp enough to gouge chunks of skin out of each other when he ducks between them, their teeth are sharp enough to tear the back of his shirt when he doesn’t dodge quickly enough, but they aren’t _good_. In the short glimpses that he manages to catch, he notices that she seems legitimately surprised. Either she underestimated him, or she overestimated her pets.

As the final few charge him, having pulled out small weapons while he slaughtered their partners, the adrenaline really kicks in. He mocks her, counting off the last two as their blood splatters his face. When he turns to face her, she’s nowhere to be found. He doesn’t wait up, instead rushing back into his apartment as the first drop of rain falls to the roof. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the generator was in fact switched off, probably more for effect than anything else. She is quite a drama queen. The computer is the first thing that he turns on. For the first time in a great while, he’s excited to start the webcam.

“Nine, ten,” he jokes darkly. “I survived again.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [==>Dirk: Weather the Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/775391) by [classicConundrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/classicConundrum/pseuds/classicConundrum)




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